


Wait For It

by ContinentalBlue



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alexander Hamilton Being Alexander Hamilton, Angsty Schmoop, Bisexual Alexander Hamilton, Boys Kissing, Dreams and Nightmares, Feelings, Fluff, Gay John Laurens, Hamilton References, Historical, Historical Lams, Light Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Homophobia, Promises, lamilton, washingdaddy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-12-30 06:05:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18309686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ContinentalBlue/pseuds/ContinentalBlue
Summary: Alexander Hamilton has never been a man willing to wait. But when it comes to his best friend John Laurens, he thinks he may have to wait just a tiny bit.





	Wait For It

The air was warm on his bare skin as he walked barefoot through the soft, flower-speckled grass. The hand in his was rather warm, too, and Hamilton now turned himself towards its owner. Its owner was one John Laurens, who, now, had warm honey-blond hair tinted soft amber in the rapidly fading sunlight. The light had turned his enchanting blue eyes a dark cerulean and his lips a soft carnation pink. He looked all the part of an angel.

"Oh, John..." Hamilton murmured, stepping closer to Laurens.

"Have I told you how fetching you look in the fading sun, my dear?" Laurens was barely a breath away.

"Why, I don't believe that you have." Hamilton's words were punctured by a soft laugh. 

At this, Laurens smiled softly, gazing at Hamilton. "Your hair turns the exact color of ruby, and your eyes--Oh, your eyes turn the most beautiful shade of violet."

"Is that so?"

"Yes, unbelievably so."

Laurens moved the breath closer and pressed his lips to Hamilton's. Hamilton kissed back, using his fingers to brush John's hair away from his face and behind his ear. 

The sky, however, turned a dark, stormy gray. Hamilton noticed this and turned his head towards the sky, body seizing with panic when he saw His Excellency, Marquis de Lafayette, Tench Tilghman, and Richard Kidder Meade walking towards them.

Lafayette's face was stony, but that was nothing compared by Washington's: Washington's was one of utter loathing, of disgust. He steps toward them and takes Tilghman's offered musket and shoots Laurens with an added expression of contempt. 

"No!" Hamilton shouted and ran towards Laurens. But it was no use. Thick spurts of scarlet blood spurted from Laurens's wound, and he fell to the ground, convulsing wildly--  
*****************************************  
"Hamilton?" something was shaking him awake. He blearily opened one eye and saw his best friend Laurens, alive, unharmed, staring at him warily. "You were mumbling in your sleep," was offered by apology. 

"Mm...My apologies, John. I had the most unpleasant dream."

"Ah. Would you care to share?" Laurens offered.

"Well, not really--Is there any coffee?"

"Yes, I think so. Shall I get it?"

"No, thank you; I'll get it." Hamilton rubs the sleep out of his eyes and rolls off of their shared cot, looking around for his uniform. Laurens silently offers it to him and Hamilton takes it, spreading it spread-eagled onto the cot and trying to rub the wrinkles out of it.

"It's no use, Alexander, the same thing happened to my coat."

That is true, Hamilton muses. Laurens's coat fares no better than his own, however, the striking figure he cuts downplays the flaws.

"Well, let's get going." Laurens smiles and cracks his knuckles. Hamilton smiles back and walks down the stairs with Laurens to the aide-de-camp's writing office. John Fitzgerald, Robert H. Harrison, James McHenry, and Tench Tilghman were already inside, writing furiously.

"Where's Kidder?" Laurens inquires.

"Huh? Oh, right, he's probably still sleeping. You know how he is." Tilghman replies.

"What about me?" Meade asks, popping out of nowhere. Harrison jumps. Fitzgerald, however, smirks slightly and says "Only unkind things."

"Why, you--!"

"Relax, Kidder, we have work to do," Laurens says as he takes a sheet of parchment and a quill. 

"Okay..." Meade says quietly before shoving himself into a chair and taking an ink bottle, stealing Tilghman's quill.

"Hey!"

"Gentlemen." The sound of General Washington's voice fills the air. All the men stand to attention, Meade looking rather foolish as he tries to hand Tilghman his quill back.

The General chuckled lightly and declares "Meade, Harrison, and Tilghman, dispatch. Fitzgerald, Laurens, and Hamilton--Send envoys to Congress." He then walks back to his office, most likely to help assist the men in some way. Hamilton hides a smile and begins to write, words flowing as smooth as butter over the page. 

Hours pass and Hamilton stays hunched over the page, quill never faltering.

"Hamilton."

Hamilton doesn't look up.

"Hamilton!"

"Wha--Oh, John?"

"Hamilton, it's gone past two. Come to bed."

"No, let me finish."

"Alright," John sighed, "but at least eat something. You skipped supper." 

"Fine, John, but you need not mother me so." Hamilton smiles to show that he is not averse to the idea. "Although, since you will be in the kitchens, may you get me some tea?"

John smiles and heads out the door, shutting it lightly behind him. Hamilton continues writing. Hours seem to pass, yet in reality, it must have been only twenty or so minutes when Hamilton hears a soft "Bang!" and a muffled curse. Hamilton cautiously places down his quill and stands, his back cracking unpleasantly. He opens the door and sees Laurens with his tea and bread, nursing a bruise on his hand. 

"Laurens....?"

"Sorry, I banged my hand on the door." Laurens smiles embarrassedly.

"It's fine. You may go to bed John; the hour is late and I still have unfinished work."

"Alright, but..." 

"No, I have to finish."

"Fine, but just this once."

With that, John places the refreshments on the table and hurries up to bed. 

Hamilton writes an hour more. He folds the last letter into an envelope and leaves it on his desk. He walks up, hearing soft breathing coming from his shared room. 

Hamilton smiles and pushes open the door, seeing Laurens lie on the cot, eyes closed and breathing as soft as the feathers of a dove. 

He presses a featherlight kiss to John's forehead and strips off his clothes, leaving him in only his smallclothes. He washes his face with the water from the pitcher near the window and hurries into the bed, tucking himself near Laurens.

This dream is much like the first. 

Hamilton finds himself on a soft golden beach, the sun setting around him, painting the sky in shades of dandelion. The waves lap at the shore, filling the air with a pleasantly salty smell. He finds Laurens's soft hand in his, again, and it fills Hamilton with an immense sense of pleasure. He walks, hand in hand, to a patch of rocks located away from the water and sits, Laurens following suit. Hamilton turns toward John and laughs.

"Have I told you that you look like a selkie?" 

"No, dear, you have not."

"Well, I just did."

"Touche." Laurens smiles.

They fall into a comfortable silence, watching the waves curl and uncurl. After a while, John takes Hamilton's hand and peppers soft kisses on his knuckles. Hamilton feels himself blush a soft pink. 

"John..."

"Hush, dear." 

He pulls out a bouquet of red and yellow chrysanthemums and places them gently into Hamilton's fingers. Hamilton feels like crying.

"I love..."

"Precious one." Laurens kisses him gently. They spend hours there, just exploring each other's mouths. Then Laurens takes his hand and--

"Alexander!"

Hamilton wakes with a jolt, nearly falling off the bed. He stares toward Laurens, whose face is creased with terror. Obviously, Laurens is having a nightmare. 

Hamilton shakes Laurens. Laurens comes to and mumbles "Alexander..."

Hamilton replies "Shh, I am here" and moves to hug Laurens. Laurens shakily wraps his arms around Hamilton's neck and shakes with suppressed sobs. 

"Shh...Let go. Cry."

And cry Laurens does. He holds onto Hamilton as if Hamilton were to leave forever, but make no mistake--Hamilton wouldn't leave now even if Washington himself were murdered by a Redcoat. 

"It must've been some dream, huh?" 

"Y-yes. it was."

"Care to talk about it?"

"N-No...I think I-I'm fine now."

Laurens walks over to the pitcher and washes his face, taking great care to dimish the puffy redness beneath his eyes. Hamilton smiles softly at him and moves to get his uniform, swearing softly when one of the buttons on his breeches pops.

"There's nothing I can do about that, I suppose," Hamilton mutters to himself. 

"Here. Let me help."

Laurens stands in front of him, holding a needle and some thread.

"Where'd you get that?" Hamilton stares at Laurens, a smile overtaking his features. "I thought that we had limited supplies."

"Well, we do, but James gave me the set some time ago. I didn't have any use for it until now."

Hamilton accepts and maneuvers himself so that Laurens can properly sew.

"I do hope that you don't mind yellow."

"Huh?"

"Yellow, for the thread. Unfortunately, I lost my white, so..."

"It's fine" Hamilton mollifies and allows Laurens to continue in his sewing. 

"Done," Laurens says five minutes later. Hamilton jerks, unaware that he had fallen asleep. 

"Thank you." Hamilton smiles and moves to put on the rest of his uniform. 

"Shall we get to it, then?"

They make their way to the aide-de-camp's office. Tilghman sits alone, writing furiously.

"Where are the others?" Laurens asks.

"Asleep. It's early."

"It is?"

Tilghman laughs softly. "Did you not notice?"

"Well...No."

Tilghman chuckles some more and says "Have some coffee, sirs, however lukewarm it may be now." 

Hamilton pours both himself and Laurens a cup, wincing slightly at its warmth but still grateful to Tilghman nevertheless. Tilghman throws them both some correspondence that they need to complete and sighs, leaning back in his chair. 

"I'm definitely not awake enough for this shit," Tilghman mutters. 

Hamilton and Laurens look to one another. Tilghman jokes frequently but seldom swears; indeed, he must be extremely tired. 

Hamilton and Laurens set to their writing and try not to think about the other. 

A few minutes later, the rest of the aides arrive-- Meade, still rubbing his eyes, Fitzgerald and Harrison, as prim as ever, and McHenry, cracking his knuckles as he walks. They each take some of the correspondence and set down to work. 

The room is silent save for the scratching of quills. 

"Hamilton?" Laurens asks after about five hours of writing. "May you review this draft? I am unsure if I wrote it correctly."

"Of course." Hamilton takes the draft and reads it, occasionally circling a phrase. "It's fine except for these."

"Oh, thank you," Laurens replies and keeps working. 

"Boys." General Washington's voice rings out, startling the aides badly. He raises an eyebrow but says "If you all would be so kind as to join me; lunch is ready."

Hamilton stands and cracks his back, the rest of the aides following suit.

****  
Their spread is limited. A few hunks of bread and cheeses lay on the table, surrounded, even here, by paper. Hamilton clears a spot for himself and eagerly grabs some bread, having forgotten breakfast. Laurens raises an eyebrow at him but smiles, stealing a small hunk of bread for himself, sitting down next to Hamilton. The table is alight with noise from Meade and Tilghman discussing whether tea or coffee is better for staying awake-- Meade saying tea, Tilghman coffee. Laurens shakes his head at them and mutters to Hamilton "Who cares? As long as they keep me awake, I don't really care."

Hamilton chuckles around his bread. 

The lunch lasts for an hour more before Hamilton stands, cracks his knuckles, and says "Shall we go back, Laurens?"

Laurens smiles up at him, stands up, and says "Yes, of course." The rest of the aides follow suit. The walk back to the office and sit down, resuming their previous correspondence. 

Hamilton tries to focus, but Laurens keeps stealing his attention from his work to Laurens--To his strong and nimble fingers, to the delicate curve of his wrist, to his elbows. After a while, Laurens looks up at him with a knowing smirk and says "Something you'd like to say, dearest Alexander?" 

Hamilton blushes a bright pink and glances about the aides; none have heard Laurens's statement. 

"No, Laurens, have you?"

"Hmm...Touche`. " Laurens smiles with an almost soft expression on his face. 

"Touche.`"

"Sirs...!" Fitzgerald cuts in. "May we concentrate?"

"Sure." Hamilton smiles at him and (finally!) focuses on his work, only to be distracted Harrison has a loud hacking fit that lasts for five minutes. 

"E-Excuse m-me, I r-require water."

With that, Harrison leaves, leaving the aides in a strange sort of silence.

"Hopefully it isn't contagious. It would do no good for any of us to get sick," Hamilton frowns.

"I agree. Our army needs us more than ever," Fitzgerald sighs. 

"Where is the Marquis de Lafayette? I'm supposed to deliver this to him," Tilghman cuts in. 

"The other side of camp, maybe? I haven't seen him in a while," Laurens states.

Hamilton says nothing, remembering his awful dream from a few nights ago. 

"Hamilton?" Laurens says, looking at Hamilton. "Are you alright? You seem awfully quiet."

"No, no, I'm fine," Hamilton replies.

"Alright," Laurens replies, still looking at him rather suspiciously.

"Well, I'll go find Lafayette," sighs Tilghman and leaves.

"Shall I go with him?" asks Laurens.

Hamilton finds himself wanting Laurens to stay. "No, stay, we really do have work to do," Hamilton says.

"Alright," Laurens replies and work is resumed. After a while, though, Harrison returns, still clearing his throat but looking much better.

"I think I'm better now. Where's Tench?" Harrison says, sitting back down gingerly.

"Out to find the Marquis de Lafayette. And I forgot to ask--Did you have any symptoms before today? Headaches, runny nose, things like that?" McHenry asks, abandoning his work. 

"Well, I have had a bit of a headache, but perhaps that's just the work," Harrison replies thoughtfully. 

"Alright, well, if you have any more or worse symptoms, please come see me. We can't have you infect the rest of us aides."

"I am amenable to that."

"You better be, Harrison," Meade half-jokes. 

Harrison smiles at Meade and continues working on his previous correspondence. Hamilton cracks his knuckles and looks around the room, taking in the sound of scratching quills. His gave focuses on Laurens, whose gaze is focused upon the parchment that he is writing on. Laurens looks up at him and Hamilton darts his eyes away from him, a small blush dotting his cheeks. Laurens keeps looking at him and eventually looks down, his cheeks flushed. Hamilton wonders why Laurens's cheeks are flushed. He decides not to worry about it. 

Meade cracks his back and places his quill down, saying "I wonder when dinner is."

Just then, His Excellency steps into the room and briskly says "Aides, supper."

Hamilton stands up, cracking his knuckles and extending a hand to Laurens, who was still writing.

"Coming, John?"

"Oh, yes," Laurens says and grabs onto Hamilton's arm. They walk like that, hand on arm until they reach the kitchens. Hamilton smells the aromas of cooking food and wonders whether there has been an increase in food. Hamilton voices this to Laurens, who frowns and replies "God, I sure hope so."

Hamilton, disliking the frown on his dear friend's face, replies "Let's see, then."

Hamilton was wrong. There seems to be less food than usual, even with the aides already eating. 

"Uhhhhh." Laurens groans and makes to sit down, letting go of Hamilton's arm. The room is alight with chatter from the aides and General Washington. Hamilton pulls out a chair for himself and Laurens, eagerly taking a plate and ladling himself some salted pork. Laurens gets himself some cabbage and looks at it, seeming disconcerted.

"What's wrong?"

"Oh, nothing..."

"Seriously. Tell me."

"Well...It's just that I was remembering my mother's cooking. She cooked cabbage just like this, except with more pepper."

"Ah. Your mother is deceased?"

"Yes, yours?"

"Yes, mine is too."

Hamilton reaches over to pat Laurens's hand. "Don't be sad, John. I'm sure we have some pepper somewhere; perhaps we can make your mother's cooking a reality."

"You...You'd do that for me?"

"I think I could do anything for you, John."

Laurens looks down with a small blush dusting his cheeks. 

"I...Well...You know...I would do anything for you, too."

"Really?" Hamilton's grin is wide; gleeful. "Come, John. Let's see if there's any pepper, shall we?"

"Yes, let's," Laurens says, grabbing onto Hamilton's arm again tightly. They walk towards the kitchens, where a small jar containing black peppercorns lays. Hamilton removes a few and spots a mortar and pestle. He crushes them and notices Laurens staring at him quizzically.

"What are you doing?"

"Crushing them up. Have you never seen a mortar and pestle before?"

"Why, yes, I have, but Ellen told me it was used to crush meats, fruits, y'know. Things like that"

"Well, no, dear, it's used to crush up herbs. Meats would require a mallet and fruits--Why would you crush up fruits in the first place? And who's this Ellen?"

"She was one of my father's cooks. And don't tell me that you've never had crushed blueberries with cream and sugar!"

"I haven't--It sounds rather horrendous."

"Well, it isn't, really. It has a delicate sort of taste. Imagine eating a blueberry flavored cloud during springtime in a flower-speckled field."

"Very specific, but yes, I am able to imagine it. I retract what I said. It sounds delicious."

"It is."

The peppercorns lay forgotten. Hamilton gazes up into Laurens's eyes. 

"My dear John, have I told you how fetching your eyes look?"

"You just have now, dear."

It seems natural for Hamilton to press his lips to John's and John happily kisses back, deepening it. 

"We must be heading back, love, we've been gone a while."

"Yes," Laurens chuckles, seeming light-headed. "Of course."

"Shall we resume this later?"

"Yes." Laurens breathes, grabbing the peppercorn. "Yes, please."

They head out the door. Fitzgerald notices and says "What took you so long?"

"We got caught up in conversation," comes Laurens's easy reply. 

"Ooh, good, peppercorn." Meade takes a small pinch, smiling widely. Laurens sighs and sits back down, looking slightly exasperated. 

After about twenty more minutes of supper, Hamilton decides to get back to his writing. Laurens following him, saying "I have so much work to do." Half of the aides decide to go to bed, while the other half work on letters.

After two hours of this, Hamilton feels like he might fall asleep then and there. He finishes up the last line of his letter, seals it, and says to Laurens "Coming?"

"Yes," Laurens heaves himself out of his chair and walks up to their bedroom, Hamilton following suit. They both strip both to their smallclothes and all but fall into each other, kissing fiercely. Eventually, their kisses devolve into small, soft kisses. Hamilton pulls Laurens to his chest and blows out the candle, sleepily saying "Goodnight, my dearest John."

Laurens replies "Sweet dreams, love." and they both fall asleep, perfectly content in each other's arms.


End file.
